Gifted and Talentless
by arianapeterson19
Summary: "I feel so powerful!" said Jack. "Yes well, you're hold a knife, being armed does that to people," replied Aster. The AU arc that started in my one shot collection, "The One Were" but was voted off the island and moved here because it's an AU and the other one shots are not.
1. Gifted

The building towered over him, the imposing red brick walls seemingly bending over trying to crush him as his caretaker ushered him through the thick iron doors.

"I went to school here," said Fred, the caretaker, for the hundred and tenth time. "You'll love it. There'll be kids like you here. But some of them are normal. And you'll be in the art department, so I'm sure you'll make lots of friends."

"I'll be fine," said Jack, smiling his easy smile, his white hair sticking out in every direction. "You worry too much."

"I just feel so bad that I can't keep you anymore," said Fred. "But with overcrowding, I don't really have a choice."

"Relax," laughed Jack, though inside he was screaming protest. "I bet you were in drama while you were here."

Inside Jack was begging his caretaker not to make him switch schools in the middle of the semester from his comfortable, academically focused day school to an arts and science based boarding school. However, he kept that cowardly voice locked inside and put on a good face; he knew Fred didn't want to send him to Burges School of Advanced Studies and the only reason he did was because his home for children was too full and Jack was the oldest. The only thing Jack could do was make him feel better by pretending to be excited-or at least happy0 about the sudden switch.

"You must be Fred Astair," said a large man with a top hat resting on his protruding ears. "I'm Headmaster Moon."

"I'm Fred Astai, Jack's caretaker," said Fred, holding out his hand to shake Headmaster Moon's.

"Jackson Frost," boomed Headmaster Moon, his voice echoing through the entrance hall.

"It's just Jack," said Jack firmly.

"Jackson, your things are already in your room,: said Headmaster Moon, ignoring the preferred name. Since you're already in your uniform, here's your schedule and map. You may say your goodbyes now and go to your first class. Fred, I'll see you in my office when you're finished."

"He's a right ray of sunshine," said Fred as the massive man disappeared down the hall. "I didn't realize I'd have to leave so soon. I thought we'd get more time."

"Don't worry," said Jack brightly, grinning at the mousy blonde, middle aged man with thick glasses. "You have to get back to the other kids anyway and I have classes."

"Play nice with the other kids," said Fred sternly. "And remember what I said, keep your talents to yourself. Most of the people here are fine but there are a few who would like to turn you. They already know you have talent, that can't be helped, just don't be a show off."

"Relax. Nothing is going to happen. Keep those kiddos out of trouble for me."

"See you later, Jack."

Jack gave him a quick hug before heading in the opposite direction. One staircase and two halls later, Jack quietly entered a room with twelve other students sitting at their own large black desks. He walked to the open table at the back corner and sat down.

"Class, this is Jackson Frost," said the teacher from the far corner of the room, sounding bored. "Mr. Frost, we're drawing with charcoal self portraits. You have supplies on your desk and there's a mirror and more charcoal on the shelf."

Jack silently got to work, easily sketching out the shape of his face with smooth, flowing lines. The rest of the class returned to talking as they worked. It appeared that the teacher didn't care as long as they finished their projects. Jack tried to tune out the voices and focus on his drawing.

"Who's the new boy?" asked one of the students softly. "Not another freak I hope."

"What do you think?" said another boy, laughing. "No one ever transfers after school has started unless they are talented. What do you think he can do?"

"My money is on weather," said another. "Look at his hair! It's a mess, just like Aster's hair."

Jack felt his cheeks grow colder and knew he was blushing without looking in the mirror. His face would be a light purple shade of shame; he hated being talked about as if he wasn't there.

"Sorry I'm late," announced a tall boy, waltzing into the room.

The teacher and the rest of the class ignored him while Jack studied him. He was tall and muscular, naturally tanned with hair the color of wet sand. With long easy strides, he moved to the desk in front of Jack's, set his cup of coffee down, and turned, meeting his gaze with electric green eyes.

"You're new," he said, his voice the sound of a favorite blanket or jacket, if those objects made noise.

"You're observant," snarked Jack. "You have coffee."

"I'm friends with the cook," laughed the boy. "I'm Aster, by the way. Aster Bunnymund."

"I'm Jack," said Jack.

"It's nice to meet you, Jack."

Aster turned back to his desk and Jack turned back to his sketch, wondering what Aster was thinking about, until a small breeze shuffled the charcoal on his desk, causing him to look up, to make sure no one else noticed.

"What's your talent?" asked Aster, eyeing the unmoving charcoal with interest.

"I like to draw," said Jack shortly.

"I do weather," said Aster. "Mainly thunderstorms but I also can grow flowers."

"How does that work?" asked Jack, his interest sparking instantly. "Does it matter where you are or can you just make a flower pop up anywhere?"

They spent the next hour talking, Aster telling Jack about his powers, what the school was like, and answering every one of the many questions the new boy put to him. By the time they reached a stopping point in the conversation, Aster had walked Jack to his next class.

"Well, this is where I leave you," said Aster. "I'll see you tonight for specials."

"Okay," said Jack.

Aster was gone by the time Jack thought to ask what specials were.

***Hello! This shouldn't be a terribly long story, but any of you who know me know that my stories have a way of taking on a life of their own and taking over. **

**At any rate, this is the original one shot from my collection of one shots, and will continue on with more chapters just of this story. If you have any questions, let me know.**

**Always- Ari**


	2. Specials

The rest of the day was dull at best, spent in a blur of wandering around hallways trying to find classes, and then once he found the classes, sitting through them. By the time classes were over, Jack was exhausted from dealing with the stares of people. For several minutes, he simply stood outside of his last class, leaning against the wall, watching passively as the halls slowly emptied of his chattering peers.

"Oi, Jack," called Aster, marching towards him with purpose. "What are you doing? It's time for specials."

"I thought classes were over for the day," said Jack.

"They are, it's study hall time, or specials, depending on who you are," said Aster. "Come on, we're in the third floor all purpose room."

When the pair entered the room, Jack noticed that ten other people were already there. Two boys were identical in every sense of the word, their dark skin the same shade of warm coco, eyes bright and alert and sparking almost with energy.

"Those two are the Bias Twins," said Asher, following Jack's gaze. "Claude and Caleb. Science genius's and can boost or suck electricity. They don't talk to me."

"Aster, who's your friend?" asked a boy just taller than Jack.

"Go away, Monty," said Aster tiredly.

"I'm Monty," said the boy, his caterpillar eyebrows wiggling on his face. "I work with metal. What's your name?"

Jack blinked at him owlishly, reading his face with the ease of someone who was used to being ignored could do. Nothing on the newcomers face told Jack good things and his eyes set Jack on edge, which caused the temperature in the room to drop several degrees.

"Aster, what gives?" said Monty angrily. "Why'd you drop the temperature?"

"How many times do I have to tell you, I don't do temperature changes!"

"Everyone, get to work on your homework," said Headmaster Moon, emerging from a side door. "You will have practice in a bit after I finish with my meeting."

"Practice for what?" asked Jack.

"Talent practice," explained Aster, leading Jack to a side of the room that held art supplies. "You know, so we don't lose control or something. You normally work alone or pair up with someone who had a similar talent as you. A few of the teachers supervise and assist when they can. It's quite fun."

"Hello," said a girl with violet eyes who was two inches taller than Jack-which wasn't saying much considering most were taller than him. "I'm Ana Toothiana, shape shifter."

"Is that how everyone introduces themselves around here?" said Jack. "With their name and talent?"

"Or department."

"I'm Jack," said Jack, holding out his hand. "It's nice to meet you."

"Aster, come here, I need your help," said a large boy who towered over even Aster, his hair jet black and voice booming.

"Jack took a seat at the same table as Aster, Ana, and the boy who asked Aster for help. They were soon joined by a small boy with golden skin and matching eyes. Jack nodded to the smaller boy and silently finished his math homework and started his English essay before Headmaster Moon reappeared.

"Put away your belongings and use this time to safely practice your talents," said Headmaster Moon.

"What do you do?" asked Aster, pushing away from the table.

"Ice and snow," said Jack quietly, watching people mill about the room.

"Brilliant!" said Aster. "Nick there is force fields and Sandy-the little guy- does dreams, which is way cooler than it sounds. I do storms, so we can work together."

Jack nodded.

It wasn't until Jack was settling in to the bed at the end of the room, farthest from the door, closest to the window, the he had time to think back over his day.

There had been no going away party for him when he left Fred's home for children because honestly, no one cared that he was leaving. Before he had even set eyes on his new home, Jack had vowed to leave it the same way he left Fred's, without fanfare and with no one remembering as soon as he was gone. The other boys were running amuck in the dorm room, so Jack, suddenly feeling claustrophobic, slipped out the door, wandered the vast halls, until he found an old auditorium where he hid from the rest of the school.

The room was more empty than a graveyard; at least graveyards housed bodies. It was beautiful in a haunting way, stretching on like a church with even wooden seats acting as honor guards to the center aisle. Jack sat in the third row from the back, the seat in front of him looked like it had bite marks from a restless child more interested in a coloring page than whatever performance had been happening on stage. Jack couldn't quite blame the unknown child for it's boredom.

"What are you doing here?" demanded a solid sounding voice.

Jack turned slowly in his seat. Ordinary was the perfect word to describe the boy. He had mousey brown hair, deep brown eyes, and naturally tanned skin. Sitting, Jack thought he was ungodly tall but when he stood, his own blue eyes were only half an inch from being level with the other boy.

"Well?" he said when the silence stretched on.

Jack thought about answering the question but the answer was so obvious it was almost painful. He had been sitting. If this new boy could not understand that he certainly would not understand any answer that Jack had to offer. Jack felt one eyebrow going up but he didn't try to stop it.

"You're quite loquacious," said the boy.

Jack almost smiled.

"I don't care that you're in here, you just didn't look like you knew where you were. I'm Jamie, by the way. Jamie Bennett."

Jamie smiled, which made his eyes crinkle. It would have made him handsome if it hadn't made his face squish up. Jack imagined that someone who had been hit in the face with a frying pan would look like Jamie when he smiled.

"Do you talk at all?" asked Jamie.

Before Jack could answer, a man in a top hat ran in, his boots clacking on the floor.

"This is all wrong," he declared, his words lilting with a British accent. "Not a single one of you is competent enough. What is wrong with this world?"

Jack rolled his eyes and turned back to Jamie.

"Wait, you, boy," said the newcomer, pointing a long finger at Jack. "What did you just do? You rolled your eyes. Why?"

Jack turned back to the man, both eyebrows raised and looked him up and down, wondering how he would react if he signed him a response. In the end, Jack settled for looking him in the eyes, steadfastly remaining silent.

"He doesn't talk, Professor Black," said Jamie helpfully.

"Doesn't talk or can't talk?" said Professor Black. "Because there is a difference."

"Are you from Leeds?" asked Jack, finally placing the accent.

"Well, that answers the question about ability," said Professor Black. "And no, I'm not."

"You sound like it," said Jack.

Professor Black glared at Jack but the boy was no longer interested. He walked past both Jamie and the professor and left the room.

The nest morning, Jack sat in the back of his history class with Aster, doodling absently on his notes.

"Mr. Frost, care to share with us why they burned him in 1415?"

"Other than the fact that he was alive in 1415 until they burned him, then he wasn't alive and they didn't burn him anymore?" said Jack.

"Yes, other than that," said Professor Black.

"Don't sass him, mate," whispered Aster. "He's not one you want to cross."

"Well other than that, they burned him because they claimed he was a religious radical and that's how they killed off people they didn't like back then," drawled Jack, bored with the conversation. "Burning at the stake, which was actually a pretty stupid way to kill people if you ask me. Most of them died from smoke inhalation before the actual fire could kill them."

"You may be here for your talent, Jack Frost, but don't think that gives you a free pass in all the other classes," sneered Professor Black. "Like most of your kind, you may be gifted but you are completely talentless."

Jack bit his tongue from pointing out that his powers were called talents, so the proper way to phrase the insult would be to call him talented but giftless. Instead, Jack contented himself with thinking about how he must look to the girl two desks over and three rows up, the one he had met yesterday but promptly forgot her name. She sat there, right leg crossed over her left, hair covered in strand after strand of rainbow colors, curling slightly against her pale cheeks, lost in her own world, seemingly oblivious to the taunts of her fellow classmates as they whispered about her hair.

"Aster, what's her name?" asked Jack when Professor Black had moved on to terrorize another poor soul, nodding in the direction of the girl with multicolored hair.

"That's Ana, remember? Shape shifter. She's a bit strange."

Jack nodded more to himself than to Aster, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched Ana who, it seemed, the jury was still out on whether or not she was insane.


	3. Secrets

Jack studied the others as they finished up practicing their talents two months after his arrival. Ana shifted back to her regular form, losing her brilliant array of feathers in exchange for pale dark skin the color of coffee and purple hair. She made Jack think of a woman he used to know, one who glared at the toilet with the same scathing glare she used on all the non-believers, as if it were beneath her, who if she held her nose any higher it would be in heaven, in more ways than one, the inanimate object that dealt with puke and dung, just like the souls doomed to hell. She had told Jack she was 8 when she was saved, whatever that meant, but that once she was saved, she was always saved. She knew it all, but that was years ago, before she had gotten knocked up by a one night stand and given birth to Jack, but every time she told Jack the story of how she was saved (which always seemed to coincide with expelling the toxins in her body the same way she had accepted them several hours before, trying to stay quiet so the man in the other room who didn't know about Jack wouldn't wake up) Jack couldn't help focusing on what a good thing it was that she was saved when she was 8 because she certainly would never be saved now.

With a firm shake of his head, Jack put all thoughts of his mother away, back into the closet in his mind that held other dark thoughts and memories.

"You're powerful," said Aster, shaking sweat and shaggy hair out of his eyes, grinning at Jack with a look of admiration that accompanied a competitive person find their equal.

"Why didn't you tell me you had that much talent?" asked Monty. "We could be brilliant together. You don't want to waste your time with these folks."

Jack turned away, uninterested in talking to Monty; the only thing he wanted to do was keep his head down and avoid drawing attention to himself. Winter powers were rare enough, he didn't need everyone else trying to recruit him as well.

"Hey, I was talking to you," snapped Monty.

"He's not interested," said Aster. "Rack off, Monty. Go bug someone else for a change."

Before he could catch the rest of the conversation, Jack was out the door and down the hall, finding his way to an empty art room to finish his homework and ignore the rest of the world.

It had been an overwhelming day of assignments to turn in, places to be, and new talents to learn about. Jack, used to being the only one of his kind, didn't like feeling like he was under a microscope as he practiced, the teachers and other students watching him work on his powers with Aster. Aster, for his part, seemed only interested in getting better, not using Jack. He friends were nice enough, particularly the silent boy, Sandy. But Jack hadn't come to make friends, wasn't good at making friends, and certainly didn't need friends.

"There you are," said Aster, opening the door to the classroom and sauntering in, Nick, Ana, and Sandy following close behind. "We were wondering where you had gotten off to. Look, we all have that stupid English assignment due tomorrow and wanted to know if you were finished."

Jack, the words of rejection already on his lips, closed his mouth suddenly when he realized the four new people weren't trying to force him to use his powers, they were asking about the English assignment, something normal and usual and had nothing to do with talents.

"Um, yeah, the one where we have to write a poem?" said Jack, fishing a moderately crumpled paper from his bag.

"That's the one!" said Nick. "We like to share ours before, give advice, so that when we read them to the class they aren't the worst ones there."

"Oh, um, okay," said Jack.

"I'll go first," said Ana, setting her bag on top of the table Jack was sitting on.

"Ana's brilliant at poetry," whispered Aster, sitting on the chair in front of Jack.

"Ahem," began Ana. "I was four when my sisters teased me. I ran to my mother and froze where I sobbed, for there she stood with a single line to share that said "I won't always be here to help." She slipped the noose around my neck and let my childhood hang. I walked away still four years old, above the noose that made me wise and smiling, I carried on with that noose, which became a necklace and as everyone knows, necklaces are pretty."

"How the hell are we supposed to follow that up?" demanded Nick good naturedly.

Jack was focused on the words of the poem and the window it produced, revealing that maybe these four in front of him had just as many skeletons to hide as he did.

In English class the next afternoon, directly after Ana had shared her poem with the class-who appropriately cooed over it- Jack sank a little farther in his seat, hoping to remain invisible and not have to follow it up because poetry was difficult and real and he didn't want to come across as an angsty teenager.

"Shit," hissed Aster. "I left my folder in the room."

Nick, Sandy, and Ana all stared at him with comically wide eyes, panic on their faces.

"So you turn it in late, no big deal," whispered Jack nonchalantly. "You're lucky, you don't have to share with the class."

"That's not how it works," said Ana softly. "He'll get suspended if he doesn't turn this assignment on time. These guys are really strict."

"Aster," said the teacher, voice firm and grating. "You're turn to present."

Jack handed Aster his poem as the boy walked to the front of the room, ignoring the surprised looks the other four gave him.

"Hello," began Aster, glancing at the title of the poem. "This is my poem titled 'Where the Drinks Ran Out on the Corner of Dewy and 12th,' so, um, enjoy."

Jack cringed inwardly.

"The critics hated me because I was experimental," said Aster, his voice strong in a way that Jack's was not as he read out his borrowed poem. "And I am so diabolical it hurts sometimes but she keeps going on and on about lawn furniture in the warehouse while I all I want to lay in a hammock and let the moon swallow me limb by limb, rays wrapping around my skin, devouring my body, and she can sit on a white woven metal chair taking sips right out of the bottle of Jack Daniels, and watch."

Jack could feel the eyes of his new friends on him but he looked studiously ahead at Aster.

"She tells me I could be a doctor if I bothered setting my mind to it," said Aster, his voice still strong, unaware that he was reading a true story from Before to the class. "I could memorize muscles, illnesses, physics of emotions, but I've never liked dead bodies; she knows that. She claims it's because they're everything I'm not- cold, lifeless, and still. Most importantly still, but really it's because I don't want them moving- all stemming from a nightmare I had at 3 years old, but she thinks I'm fearless when she's drunk."

Jack wanted to scream at Aster to stop but couldn't. Part of him was content knowing that the others had no idea it was his poem Aster was reading, that it was his life being laid bare for them to analyze, but another part of him hated himself for writing the poem in the first place, because he had written two, one to get off his chest and the other to actually share with the class. The one Aster was reading was never supposed to be read and just having the only four people he talked to knowing it was his was bad enough.

"Running down the street in my faded black trainers, raw patch of skin seeping blood from the back of my right heel, she yells at me to stop, that I'm being stupid, with her telltale smirk giving away the fact that she just doesn't care as she takes a final swig from the flask perpetually sitting at her hip like a gun," said Aster. "A single drop of Bacardi slithers down her chin and all I can think is _You bastard, that's my rum._ It burrows in my mind in a way she never could as I finally stop. Grab the tissues and pitchforks, I'm going in for the kill."

Aster took a dramatic bow as the room applauded and all but hopped back to his desk, relieved and pleased with the reaction of the class, seemingly unaware of how truthful that poem rang.

"Well done, Aster," said the teacher. "I must say, I am impressed. I certainly never expected something so well done from you-what with your track record. Tell me, what was your inspiration?"

"My inspiration was my friend Jack," said Aster jovially while Jack tried to burrow further in his seat, hate from the boy next to him growing exponentially.

"Shut up," hissed Jack.

"Well, then I can't wait to hear what young Jack has written for us," said the teacher. "Jack, you're up."

Jack shot Aster a glare that would curdle milk, and stalked to the front of the room.

"My poem is titled 'Smartass'" said Jack sullenly. "I wrote a masterpiece yesterday. It was 39 lines long, 13 stanza's, 3 lines each. Dante would be proud. The rhymes surprised, the abstract language was few and far between, the topic was not a bit cliché. It would have been taught for centuries, printed next to Shakespeare, a one hit wonder of the literary world. I wrote a masterpiece yesterday, but then my printer jammed, my computer crashed, my grandma died, my car had a flat, my dog ate it, but I swear, I'll give it to you tomorrow."

Without another word, Jack marched back to his desk, head down, hood of his jacket pulled up over his white locks, snickers and giggles echoing his feet.

"That was," said the teacher, racking her mind for something constructive to say. "Well, Aster certainly did a fine job, did he not?"

In that moment, Jack wanted nothing more than to run from the room, away from the looks of pity Nick, Ana, and Sandy were throwing him, away from the confusion Aster radiated, away from the teacher who knew nothing about what that poem had actually been about. Jack wanted nothing more than to run, much like he always had, but the problem was, he had run out of places to run to and was already running from too many things that if he should venture outside of the school, he was bound to cross paths with at least one thing or person he was trying to avoid. Caught between a rock and a hard place, Jack sunk a little farther into his jacket and let ice spread around his feet in a futile endeavor to keep him grounded.


	4. Darkness

Soft blue eyes with contradicting brown hair, cropped short with layers and sweeping bangs, hands, not smooth and soft but scarred near to boyish imperfection, Jack thought she was perfect. Others have mocked those hands, not understanding what they created, the pictures they could paint even at 6 years old. Keeping his neck stiff and his eyes wide, Jack parades through the hall to the jeers of his peers. Halls were a battlefield, unpatrolled by teachers. Left, right, left, right, worn converse smacking each tile with less force than every phrase hit him with. Narcissism at its finest and she wasn't even there to block it out. Teachers were of no use, they didn't intervene when the abuse starts to play out. Gross is the oversight because how could they not notice when she stopped coming to school and Jack began arriving alone when he bothered to arrive at all. Grinding into his pale throat as people ignore him, each sightless stare driving deeper than the last, the resounding silence echoes for a short time, and then the mockery begins again. Jack would have begged in his mind to let it end, but that would be a disservice to her. Instantly, a hand closed on his shoulder. Keep calm, it whispers for his mind alone. Let me handle them for you. Even though it hurts, let me help. So the words still come more powerful than before but instead of taking the full force, she takes the most and hugs away the rest.

"Pippa," said Jack, waking up with a gasp and shudder far more powerful than his slight frame should have been capable of producing.

"This is why I don't sleep," groaned Jack softly, glaring at the darkened ceiling.

It was only his fifth week but he had lasted longer than he had thought he would. The school itself wasn't bad and he found he was actually enjoying being around people who were also talented. However, some things never changed and his avoidance of sleep was one of those things. He didn't want to dream of Before, he didn't want to remember her or his mother or anyone who belonged in his life Before.

"Go back to sleep, Jack," grumbled Aster from his bed under Jack's. "You're being loud again."

"Sorry," mumbled Jack.

Jack squirmed slightly, getting more comfortable, arms going behind his head, before he lay still to allow his bunk mate to fall back asleep. The snores of the other boys in the dorm echoed softly through the air but they were not what was keeping the boy awake. Jack simply stared into the dark, wondering why he was there, why he was letting himself get close to anyone, because he knew better. He knew how it would end. He knew a lot of things and yet, he couldn't stop letting Aster and his friends into his world slowly because while his brain knew better, the rest of him craved affection too much to deny himself that comfort any longer.

"Who's Pippa?" asked Aster suddenly.

"I thought you were sleeping," whispered Jack, his body suddenly tense.

"I was until you woke me up with your dreams and moaning about someone named Pippa," replied Aster. "So who is Pippa?"

Jack paused. He knew he was standing on the edge of a cliff with a choice. He could jump by telling Aster who Pippa was, and hope for the best. Or he could stay firmly planted on the ground, pretend he fell asleep, and let the matter drop.

"Pippa is my sister," said Jack so softly he wasn't positive he actually spoke the words aloud.

"Oh," said Aster. "I have a sister too. Her name is Sophie and she's a right little ball of energy. The little ankle biter could run a marathon-if she was coordinated enough, which she's not- and still have energy to swim the English Channel."

Silence settled in again between the two, filled up once more by snores from the rooms other occupants.

"What's she like?" asked Aster.

"She's perfect," said Jack, a small smile playing at his lips as he thought about his younger sister. "Six years old, beautiful, smart, with the cutest mess of brown hair you ever did see. Her smile could light up the sun and she thinks I hung the stars."

"Where is she now?" asked Aster.

"A little place called Rosehill," said Jack. "With my mom."

"Do you miss them?" asked Aster.

"Every day," said Jack, not mentioning that he only missed Pippa. Some days he thought he missed his mother as well but it was always a false alarm; he missed the idea of having his mother around, not his actual mother.

"Are they picking you up tomorrow for holiday?" asked Aster, who just could not seem to drop the topic. "I'd like to meet them."

"No," said Jack shortly, turning onto his side and curling into himself in a subconscious act of defense. "I'm staying here for holiday."

There was a pause as Aster digested that new information. The upcoming holiday break was all anyone had been able to talk about for the past week. The schedule had changed and this holiday was going to be three weeks long instead of the usual three or four days. Everyone was excited about going home to see their families and in all the conversations that the five friends had about their plans, Jack had not once mentioned that he was staying at school. But, now that Aster thought about it, Jack had never said he was leaving either.

"You aren't going to stay here for holiday," said Aster matter-of-factly. "You'll come home with me."

Jack didn't respond for so long that Aster thought the boy had fallen asleep again.

"Okay," whispered Jack into the darkness.

The darkness hid his smile but Aster could still feel the hope radiating off of him like sunshine and suddenly Aster couldn't help but wonder when the last time Jack had a place to actually home had been.


End file.
